House of Crates
by Boggy
Summary: He understood the temptations of 'being bad,' the awareness of 'right and wrong,' and the complications of choosing between the two. ...There would always be the presence of a 'wrong,' especially if choosing 'right' went against one’s nature.


Author's Notes: First and foremost—if you are unfamiliar with the events of "Korinden," I suggest you visit "Nina's YST FAQ" and find a translation guide **immediately**. Reiko, Youko, and Dr. Tokita are NOT original characters, and were included under the assumption that readers understand their background stories and involvement/relationship with the main character (i.e. Seiji). It isn't "necessary" you familiarize yourself with these characters, though it will give readers a better understanding of the story itself.

Seiji's neighbors—the Nakamura's—are original characters created for the sake of progressing the plot. However, the name "Nakamura" is a pun on Nakamura Daiki, who is Seiji's seiyuu (i.e. voice actor) in the original Japanese. But like I said, they are ORIGINAL CHARACTERS ONLY, and do not exist within the YST universe.

Contrary to popular belief, Seiji found the Korin Yoroi in a storage room separate from the main building (i.e. "hanare"), and NOT his parent's basement. The "storage room" is a recurring theme throughout the story, so it's pertinent you understand the importance of the "storage room" in contrast to the fictional "basement" so often portrayed in fanfictions and/or character shrines.

On a side note, "sembei" are rice crackers (i.e. popular Japanese snack since the ninth century), and "kimchee" are spicy pickles found in almost every Korean dish. Most terms are fairly self-explanatory.

If you have any questions, feel free to e-mail me and I'll get back to you a.s.a.p. Comments appreciated. Thanks.

Disclaimer: Ronin Warriors/Yoroiden Samurai Troopers is © to Sunrise, Nagoya TV, and Sony Music Entertainment.

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**House of Crates  
**By Boggy

Reiko and her mother quarreled at the gate, the muffled sounds of footsteps approaching the entrance. Youko chastened her child quietly, imploring the girl to mind her manners. Reiko bounced her ball against the ground, its contents rattling on impact. She laughed mischievously, only somewhat listening to her mother.

Youko pressed her ear against the gate, listening to the sounds of chaos from inside the compound. Things were no different, it seemed, then when she herself was a student at the dojo. The Dates were well-known for their busyness, their involvement in countless activities within the community. And despite their children growing older, everyone's lives remained as hectic and continuous as they had always been, even with twenty-five students to train and a daughter still in middle school.

Things were so hectic, in fact, Youko wondered if stopping by hadn't been a mistake. Her visits had become more frequent, ever since the festival and Seiji's accident. She felt it comforting to visit her old teacher, and Reiko had become all but infatuated with Seiji since his release from the hospital. And since Seiji had risked his life to save her daughter, it was only proper she help assist—to the best of her abilities—in his recovery. But between teaching classes, raising three children, and helping with community festivals, Youko worried their presence was more a hindrance than a reprieve.

Startled, Youko pulled her ear away, panicked by the sound of clicking latches.

"Youko-senpai! Please come in." Yayoi bowed, stepping aside to make room for Youko and her daughter.

Youko bowed low in response, before turning her attention to the noise. "My, my! What a mess of people! Does your mother ever stop?"

Yayoi laughed. "Mother is full of life. She takes after Grandfather, you know?"

"It can't be helped. She has many responsibilities."

"What about you? It seems you have plenty of responsibility yourself. …How are you, Reiko-chan?"

Reiko laughed happily, fidgeting from side to side. "Hello, Yayoi-oneesan. Is Seiji-oniichan home?"

Yayoi pouted, playfully, in mock rejection. "So, you came only for my brother?"

"Ha! Stop teasing, Yayoi! We came to see the family. Is Teacher in?"

"Yes. Please come with me."

---

Seiji sat quietly beneath one of the many cherry blossom trees at the edge of the estate. He wrapped his arms around his chest, chilled by an unexpected gust of wind. Spring had finally arrived in Sendai, though the air was cool, and the wind sharp—a subtle reminder of winter's wrath, and in a way, its lingering presence in the atmosphere. It was haunting, but peaceful, and it felt good to shiver, uninhibited, in the morning breeze.

It was almost scandalous.

Since his release from the hospital, his family had kept him under constant surveillance, as though terrified he might throw himself in traffic. His mother made frequent trips to his bedroom, checking his temperature and asking if anything "felt bad." His grandfather yelled when he lifted heavy equipment, or practiced with his sword in the evenings (all the while insisting he's "fine"). His grandmother made barrels of herbal tea to "help in his recovery," shoving cup after cup into his lap, and onto his dinner plate. And his father, well, his father was no different than usual—quiet, calm, and seemingly unaffected by the madness that saturated the household. Even his sisters were leery, afraid that stepping out of line might earn them a swift thwarting from their elders.

In the midst of all the uncharacteristic pampering, petting, and doting, a scandal was tempting, though he wasn't sure his body could manage.

Seiji listened close as a petal flew from the branches and onto his knee. He left it be a moment, before retrieving the blossom between his fingers and staring at the lines that traced the curve of the flower's edge. Such an intricate pattern for such a small organism—it was baffling. The complications of nature were almost painful, and that in itself was a mystery. Nothing was ever quite as simple as it seemed.

The sound of bells broke his thoughts, and another unexpected breeze swept the petal from between his fingers and into the air. Startled, his eyes searched for the sound, and found its source in the form of a small child—Reiko, to be exact.

He smiled as she sprinted forward, her feet light as fireflies against the earth. She held in her hands the same ball that had landed him in the hospital just four months earlier, as pleased with its shape and purpose as any child is with their favorite toy. She held the ball by its string, the bell inside clanking with her movements. He found its chime soothing, though he imagined Reiko paid it no attention.

She'd broken the string on her last visit, and begged Seiji to fix it. He wondered if and how many times before Youko had fixed that same string. It was an odd thing to question, but a question that nagged him nonetheless.

"Seiji-oniichan!" Reiko laughed as she stood at Seiji's side, her head level with his neck and shoulders. Her laughter was infectious, as Seiji found himself full of smiles, and tempted to take her in his arms and swing through the air.

"Reiko-chan, you've ran from your mother again, haven't you?"

She laughed. "But mother can't keep up! It's so funny when she chases me—though I never go near the road."

At that instant, she fell silent.

Reiko rarely showed signs of remorse—for anything. Though it seemed the topic of traffic, specifically Seiji's accident a few months back, was painful for her. Whether it was the memory of a traumatic experience, or a feeling of genuine guilt, he couldn't tell. Either way, the ordeal was over, and Seiji was fine. And it wasn't as if the accident had been her fault. More than anything, Seiji was grateful for her safety, and relieved that she'd walked away from the incident unscathed.

Disturbed by her sudden silence, Seiji took the opportunity to change the subject.

"You know, I was just thinking how I'd like a glass of juice. Would you like a glass as well?"

"Yes, fix me some juice." Reiko laughed again, tugging at Seiji's arm. "And carry me back to the house!"

Using the trunk as support, Seiji lifted himself off the ground, stretching a bit before gathering Reiko in his arms. He held her close, their faces mere inches apart, Reiko's stringed ball the only thing separating her body from his torso. Seiji had come to love the child dearly, appreciative of the many visits she and her mother made to check his condition, and mingle with the family.

It was sad, however, that she had no father; and while not his problem, he felt it his responsibility to give her the paternal attention she so desperately deserved—and needed. Not only that, but Reiko reminded Seiji of himself as a child—willful, confident, and rebellious. He understood the temptations of "being bad," the awareness of "right and wrong," and the complications of choosing between the two. The heart of "Rei" was dictated only by society's standards of how one "should" act; thus, making wise choices was a constant struggle, even with years of training and control. There would always be the presence of a "wrong," especially if choosing "right" went against one's nature. Thus is the price of conviction.

"The cherry blossoms are striking this year." He said it more to himself than Reiko.

"They're prettiest at the park. Take me to see the cherry blossoms after dinner!"

Seiji laughed. "We'll see."

"Reiko!" A womanly figure came dashing through the clearing.

"Look. Here comes your mother."

"Reiko! Oh! Such a wild child! Say you're sorry to Seiji-oniichan."

Seiji shook his head. "It's fine, Youko-senpai. Reiko and I were just on our way back."

Youko snorted. "Ha! Just wait! You'll be a doting parent, no doubt; I can tell these things. And you're at the age where girls like to flirt. How about that young woman who visited you at the hospital? She was adorable! Though I wouldn't waste my time, if I were you. Girls are fickle, you know, and I won't wait forever!"

Seiji stammered. "What… What are you saying?"

"Mama, I'm hungry."

"Ah, that's right! Teacher offered us a guest room." Youko beamed, turning her attention to Seiji. "…Oh! That reminds me…"

"Yes?"

"Teacher asked you to deliver supplies to your neighbor's house."

"Supplies?"

Youko nodded. "Something about supplies your family borrowed a few weeks back. You need to return them."

"I see… Well then, we should be on our way." He extended an arm to Youko. "Shall we?"

Youko clasped her hands in delight. "My, my! I would love to accompanying you! It's like a date!"

Seiji stammered, slightly more flustered than before. "That… That isn't… How can you talk that way when I asked so simply?"

Youko took his arm and laughed. "Come, come. We mustn't keep your family waiting."

---

The streets of Sendai were lonely, but calm, and he sighed at the sound of silence. There was increased commotion in the early afternoon, kendo students filing in and preparing for the day's lessons. Normally, Seiji was in charge of afternoon classes, but his mother gave him the day off, asking instead that he deliver materials to their neighbors down the road. Apparently, they were materials used at last season's festival, only his mother had never returned them. She would have done so sooner, but the dojo consumed her entire existence, making even the simplest of tasks an involved, complicated chore. That, and such trivial errands were often given to responsible kendo students, who were more than willing to assist their beautiful teacher—be it Seiji or Seiji's mother—in any way possible.

Today was different, however, and Seiji purred at the chance to step away from his responsibilities—the chance to bask in the stillness that so often escaped his household.

The sun shined and the wind blew, and everything was well.

Seiji loved the tranquility of Sendai—the innocence of his students and neighbors, the empty wind that cooed and whispered, the passing whim of mystery and intrigue. Grandfather found his musings foolish, yet he couldn't shake the feeling of something powerful and spiritual raking at his heels, clawing at the fabric of his shirt, scraping the cement of walls and driveways.

How foreboding these musings felt.

On approaching his neighbor's house, Seiji stopped to admire the perfection—no other word was powerful enough to describe—of his neighbor's showy decor. The Nakamura family was known for their meticulosity, and for having one of the most attractive properties in the district.

Their garden was a thing of envy amongst older folks, all whom struggled to capture the elegance of the Nakamura's verdure—not to mention uproot their reputation of thirty-five years, and claim position of esteemed gardener in the process. It was silly—old folks fighting over Spiketails and Snow Willows; but competition existed on all levels, and gave old parents with grown children something to care for in the absence of little ones.

An omamori hung from the Momo Tree out front, one that offered protection against evil spirits and violent specters. It was nothing to find four and five families per block with protective charms at the entrance of their homes. But a cool wind caught the back of Seiji's neck, and he couldn't shake the feeling of uneasiness that hung at the center of his spine.

With forced focus, Seiji spotted Nakamura-san pruning his flower bed.

"Nakamura-san?"

"Eh?" The old man lifted his head at the sound of his name. "Kaneo, is that you?"

"Seiji!"

Seiji jumped, startled, as Kaneo—she must have spotted him blocks away—teetered down the front steps and into his face, holding the sides of his shoulders as she peered at his features, admiring the exotic colors that framed his profile.

"My, my… Such a face…" She smiled warmly, placing a cool hand against his cheek. "Rained on ground hardens. Though you don't need an old woman to tell you that."

Seiji smiled, covering her frail hands with his own. She reminded him of Grandmother.

"Hmm…" She pulled her hands away, placing them behind her back as she trudged towards the house. Her light kimono fluttered in the wind. "Come inside. I have snacks for you."

---

Like most elderly women, Kaneo was an excellent cook. But with his busy schedule, Seiji rarely visited, though he was always welcome to her culinary delicacies when he did. She had spent that morning making rice crackers, flavored with soy sauce and sesame seeds. On rare occasions, she would use chocolate or cheese, though it was mostly for younger generations. Seiji's father, in particular, preferred his sembei flavored with kimchee.

They spoke of pleasant things for a better portion of the afternoon, with Seiji serving tea, and Kaneo telling stories of her youth. Even Nakamura-san, who was usually quiet, offered Seiji several "secrets" for optimal bonsai-trimming care. As the minutes passed, Seiji lost his feelings of uneasiness, and reveled in the kind company of his elders.

"Well then." Kaneo clamped her hands together, her eyes revealing a youthful gleam despite her old age. "You brought something for us?" She motioned towards the bag of supplies at Seiji's feet.

Seiji bowed his head, his hands tucked neatly in his lap. "Yes. My mother asked that I return this to you. They are supplies, from last season's festival."

Kaneo took a sip of tea. "I see."

"She offers her apologies for the delay in returning them." Once again, Seiji bowed, lower than before. "Our dojo has been very busy…"

Kaneo laughed softly, brushing the matter away with a sweeping motion. "No, no... You helped me pour tea today. If fortune permits, your children will pour tea as well."

Nakamura-san took a sip of his own tea. "It would be nice to have children in the neighborhood again. More young ones to eat sembei; more students for your dojo." He laughed at the irony.

Kaneo stood, with some assistance from Seiji, and motioned towards the back door. "The storage room is out back. We keep our supplies there."

---

The uneasiness returned, as Seiji stared at the tattered structure of the Nakamura's storage room. It reminded him of their own—the storage room where he was sent, countless times, for inappropriate behavior in his youth. The same storage room where the Korin Yoroi appeared, and changed his life forever.

He shook, without knowing, at the realization of his fears, at the memory of wondering if and when his grandfather might return, to take him from the shed and forgive his rebellion, forgive his desperate attempt to be noticed, loved.

The world seemed empty in its decayed presence, as though time reversed, or perhaps, stood still, for any who approached its tainted boundaries of confined secrets. But was it the Nakamura's shed he saw, or his own?

Seiji shivered hard, flicking his hair to the side with determination. His hand felt surprisingly cold against the weathered knob, as he pushed the door inward, and stepped inside.

A second's glance, and the shed was nothing short of ordinary—crumpled boxes, gardening tools, and a clouded window on the far wall. Seiji scolded himself for letting his thoughts get the better of him, and placed the Nakamura's supplies against a crate at the back of the room. A cloud of dust lifted on impact; Seiji batted it away with a cough.

The storage room was filled with clutter, far worse than his grandfather's at the dojo. Feeling claustrophobic, Seiji backed away from the boxes and tools, nudging his shoulder against a stack of crates. He turned his attention to the sound of breaking glass, irritated by his sudden clumsiness.

He bent down, his long nails scraping the sides of a broken bottle in pieces against the floor. He sighed, wishing he were free to leave both the storage space and his unfortunate mess behind. Instead, he rummaged through a pile of rakes and brooms, searching for something—a dustpan, presumably—to sweep up the smaller shards of glass.

Having no such luck on the surface, Seiji scanned the floor for anything of use. Carefully, he reached over the glass and pulled away some boxes beneath a rotting table. To his discouragement, he found only cobwebs and darkness. Seiji returned the boxes to their original place, but jumped when he felt something cold against his wrist.

"Gross."

He pulled his arm from beneath the table, his stomach churning from the feel of slime against skin. He jarred forward as his arm caught, a bluish outline clutching his wrist, and a child's face etched in the darkness. A young child whose eyes—terrified—tore at him with a sickening intensity, pale and white against the dark contrast of his surroundings. Their hand was dirty, grime caked into the fingernails, and Seiji struggled for breath against his—or her—disturbing stare.

With fear-induced force, Seiji pulled himself from the child's grip and fell backwards against the floor, slicing his arm against a jagged strip of glass. Oblivious to the pain, Seiji turned his eyes away from the child, and using every ounce of willpower his body could muster, drug himself off the floor. His stomach sank as he noticed the door to the outside had been shut. Had he done that on his way in?

Flinging his body against the door, he tugged ruthlessly at the knob. A trickle of blood ran across his arm, splashing against the moldy floorboards. After several attempts, the door finally gave, and Seiji threw himself outside, pulling the door closed behind him. He leaned his back against the door, the gash in his arm burning with each shortened breath.

A hand against his face, Seiji shook, violently, in the afternoon breeze, the peacefulness of his hometown shattered—shattered by the mangled touch of a damned child.


End file.
